


Black Coffee

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Justice League
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-11
Updated: 2004-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-25 03:55:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1630160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyle needs coffee first thing; Connor's always there. Coffee-and-licorice-flavored angst.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Traykor

 

 

Kyle opened his eyes. Again.

Morning.

He needed some coffee to wash away the ashes.

Traveling the universe is all well and good, but there's nothing like fresh coffee. And coffee can only be found on Earth.

The bitter, hot liquid, first thing in the morning, and several times a day, preferably.

Kyle's not really addicted. He just can't function at his best. He makes stupid decisions when he hasn't had enough coffee.

He's so not going to list all of his mistakes, certainly not first thing in the morning.

So.

Stand. Shuffle off to the bathroom, scrub, brush fingers through his hair.

Screw it. Not like he's going to see anyone who's going to comment.

A few minutes later, he realizes he's staring at his bed.

His _empty_ bed.

Kyle has to shake off the intrusive memories. Not going to go there, either.

Coffee. Shop. Downstairs.

* * *

He used to sit near the window.

Not anymore.

Now? Now he has a corner. It's dark, and quiet, and that's how he likes it.

Kyle's nursing his coffee, bitter and strong, tainted with a wisp of leftover toothpaste, when it suddenly gets too dark. He looks up, startled. All he can see is a shadow, illuminated from behind by early morning sun. A glow at the top vaguely suggests blonde hair.

Kyle blinks.

It's Connor.

He'd know that stance anywhere. There's something...relaxed, yet tense...hard to describe. But it's Connor. It's always Connor.

Connor always knows; he's always there.

"You look like hell, Kyle."

"Good morning to you, too."

Connor nods at the chair across from Kyle. "May I?" Always polite.

"Of course, man." Kyle's pleased that Connor's here. There's a warm glow in his gut, one that actually washes away the ashes better than coffee. Coffee. He should offer Connor some. "You want anything?"

Connor shakes his head. "I'm fine." He sits down gracefully, almost folds into the seat. Kyle amuses himself briefly by trying to remember the names of the martial arts forms Connor has studied. Not that it matters.

"So."

"So."

"Nice time for a trip from Star City."

"Yes."

"How's Ollie?"

"Let's not talk about Ollie."

"Okay. Seen Roy lately?"

Connor rolls his eyes. "Yes."

Kyle snorts softly. "He's doing that thing Wally does, isn't he, that whole 'I'm so much more experienced than you ever could be, so you'd better listen to me, kid' thing?"

A wry grin flashes across Conner's face. "Yeah, well, he's a bit quieter now since last month."

 _That_ sobers Kyle up quickly. "Is he...I mean..."

"No worse off than I was." Connor's eyes darken.

"Shit!" Kyle sits up. "I forgot. Connor, you know..."

"It's okay, Kyle. You were off saving the universe. It happens." A shrug, smile, and it's really okay. Kyle can relax.

But he still feels guilty.

So he changes the subject. "Your hair's shorter."

"Yeah, well, surgery will do that to you." Kyle winces again, but Connor keeps going. "So's yours. Changed your costume, too, I saw."

"Well, yeah. It got stale."

"It happens."

The two of them sit in silence. Kyle sips his coffee and stares at Connor. Connor stares back. His face is inscrutable. It's almost like he isn't even there, except as some ineffable presence.

It's making Kyle antsy. Maybe it's the caffeine.

Maybe it's Connor.

Because, and don't think Kyle hasn't noticed it before, Connor's remarkably good looking.

What? He's an artist. He's trained to notice things.

It's just weird that he's noticing it more today, of all days.

"Look, Connor, I'm almost done here. Want to come upstairs and stare at me some more?"

Connor barks out a short laugh. "That obvious, huh?" He's got the mercurial thing down pat, Kyle thinks, just as Connor continues. "We really have to talk, Kyle."

"I'm sure." He stands, and motions for Connor to lead the way.

* * *

Same scene, different room.

Obviously, Kyle thinks, he's not very talkative today. Connor sits on the opposite end of the sofa. They both have their arms crossed.

Boy. If we could just read body language.

Kyle's antsy for sure. Coffee, Connor; Connor, coffee. "So. Talk," he spurts out.

Connor's eyebrows raise. "Are you promising to listen?"

"There were promises involved?"

"Kyle..." Connor's voice almost whines.

Kyle throws up his hands. "Listening! Yes, I can manage that."

"Fine!" Connor nearly shouts back. "You need someone to talk to, I've always been your man. But this...this closing off you're doing lately? Not like you at all. I know the whole Ion thing and running off to save the universe was hard for you. It wasn't easy for anyone here on Earth, either."

"Connor..." Kyle starts. Connor waves him off.

"Look, if you don't want to talk about Jenny..."

That does it. Kyle freezes, pulls away. "No," he answers, curtly, folding his arms back across his chest.

"Are you sure? It's not easy ending a relationship..."

Kyle wants to lash out, to yell at Connor, at his presumption. What the hell is this celibate monk doing preaching to him about relationships?

The problem is, that's not all Kyle wants.

Kyle wants to curl up in Connor's arms, see what he smells like, brush fingers through his hair.

And that's patently ridiculous. Kyle's not gay.

For God's sake, he's practically thirty. One would think that he would have figured out his sexual identity by now.

Kyle's _not_ gay.

Connor's staring at him, eyes piercing and green. God. And that mouth. And what does that skin taste like?

"Well?"

And shit, he's lost the conversation.

"Uh..." Bright, Rayner. You sound fucking brilliant.

"Kyle..." Connor's practically whining again. Kyle figures he has one chance to shut him up before he gets preachy.

He takes it.

Connor doesn't move. Not at first. Stone face, startled by the sudden pressure and heat of Kyle's mouth on his.

Then Kyle finds himself on his ass on the floor _right, master of one thousand martial arts_. "What the hell, Kyle?"

"Sorry!" And he is. But not for the reasons he should be. He should be sorry for trying to french his best friend, not because said kiss was aborted suddenly. Kyle shakes his head. What the hell is wrong with him?

Kyle's staring at Connor who's staring back, shocked. And shit. He's just made the biggest mistake ever. He's just offended his best friend. Shit, fuck, damn. Who ever said superheroes don't curse has never heard Kyle's inner monologue. At least not today.

He curses again, though, when Connor launches at him, and ends up straddling his legs. "What are you doing?" Kyle asks, seriously confused and hard now. Connor doesn't weigh too much, but he's much bigger than Alex or Donna or Jenny. Plus, not soft and yielding at all.

No, definitely hard muscles there. Connor is leaning in. "Are you sure, Kyle?"

Sure? Sure of what? Kyle's mind is racing, his breathing is getting ragged, and all he can think of is how fucking hot it feels to have Connor on top of him.

Hot breath on his face, damp and not coffee, and suddenly Kyle's wondering if his breath smells bad, and oh. Connor's _too_ close.

"Kyle?"

Kyle grips Connor's arms, surges up, and really kisses him this time. Wet lips, vaguely sweet, hot, wet tongue sliding against his. He tastes licorice and mint and coffee, and he wants more. Kyle strains against Connor, trying to gain control, but Connor's as strong as he is.

And then Connor grinds against his hip, and Kyle forgets everything else. Hard muscles, hard strength, hard cocks. Oh God. Connor's hard on is grinding against his, and it feels incredible.

Kyle's not gay, but man, he could get used to this. The heat and the hardness and the pressure, and where the hell did a celibate monk learn to kiss like that, anyway? Connor presses down, and Kyle bangs his head against the floor.

"Ow," he mutters as they break for air. Kyle's hands clutch at Connor's hips, searching for more to grind against. Connor holds onto Kyle's shoulders, and begins kissing him again. Where did he find licorice toothpaste, anyway?

The heat centers in Kyle's spine, spiraling outward, and finally cresting. He groans and pulls Connor closer to him as he comes, wet and hot between them. Connor whimpers into his mouth, and his motions are getting more and more desperate. Kyle moves his hands to Connor's ass, and squeezes hard. At last, a pained moan escapes Connor's lips as he comes, and collapses on top of Kyle.

They lie there breathing hard, in sticky clothes and stunned amazement. Kyle can't think at all. His hands fall to his sides, lightly hitting the floor. He takes a deep breath. Connor stirs.

"Sorry, Kyle," he mutters, and rolls off. Kyle's almost too enervated to move, but   
manages to grab Connor's wrist before he bolts.

"Don't go."

Connor looks at Kyle. "Are you sure?"

Kyle looks back. "You keep asking me that. Trust me, okay, Connor?"

Connor sighs, and lies back down beside Kyle. "Will you promise to talk to me?"

"Later." Kyle turns to focus on Connor's green eyes, and says as seriously as possible, "I'm going to need more coffee."

 

 

 


End file.
